The Matchmaker
by conception.creation
Summary: Eight lousy, stinking months have gone by and Nathaniel still refuses to let him go home. Bartimaeus gets creative. NxK AU set between GE and PG.
1. Plan A

Disclaimer: The Bartimaeus Trilogy is the property of Jonathan Stroud.

A/N: Something new! This is a short story, probably around 5 chapters or so, set between GE and PG. This story was written for the amazingly awesome Tane, and since Nat/Kitty is her favourite pairing I've departed from my usual Bartimaeus/Kitty fare. As always, many thanks to Lady Noir for her betaing assistance. Tane, this story is for you and I hope you enjoy it!

* * *

As per usual, I was being ignored.

John Mandrake, cold-blooded magician extraordinaire, had powers of willful disregard beyond the ken of mere men. There he sat in his stiff-backed chair; his head bent low over his desk as he carefully scribed a letter with all of his usual perfect penmanship, completely oblivious to my endless stream of complaints.

"…And furthermore," I was declaring imperiously, "Any fool with a stick of chalk can tell you that relying on a djinni with such depleted powers is suicide. If you had even the smallest grain of sense you'd let me go home. The fact that you have failed to do so only emphasizes the previously established fact that you are, in effect, no more than a chicken-headed weasel masquerading as a magician. Nobody keeps a djinni on Earth for eight months straight, you brain-addled half-wit."

I paused to catch my breath and snuck a glance at Nat to see how my demands were being received. [1. As a creature of pure essence, mundane necessities like breathing are not generally required, but at that moment I was Ptolemy and I liked to keep things as accurate as possible. Not that Ptolemy would have ever been reduced to spouting insults…but hey, he'd never been in my shoes either.]

The boy hadn't even flinched. The tip of his fountain pen scratched over the surface of the stationary without missing a beat, and his stolid face retained its expression of absolute detachment.

The kid was driving me batty.

"Oi, Nat!" I called, hoping the sound of his birth name would provoke a reaction.

Nope.

_Scritch, scritch, scratch_ went the pen.

Call me petty, but at this point I was incensed enough to resort to property damage. With an innocent "oops," I kicked over the side table, causing the assortment of ceramic herb jars that had been set out for the morning's summonings to smash to pieces on the floor and release a choking cloud of powdered rosemary and bay leaves into the stagnant air of the study.

In retrospect, not such a good idea. As I fell to coughing up the noxious fragrance, Nathaniel tapped his chin with the butt of his pen, still refusing to acknowledge my existence.

"Hey you!" Thoroughly frustrated, I crumpled up a wad of newspaper and lobbed it at him. It bounced harmlessly off the back of the boy's head and rolled under the desk.

Not so much as a blink.

In a final act of desperation, I set the rug on fire.

Smoke billowed up from the smoldering fibres, and I could hear art collectors all over the world weeping in despair as the finely wrought Persian design curled and blackened like a shriveling slug. Finally, _finally,_ Nathaniel roused from his efforts to look at the spreading patch of flame with a look of considerable apathy.

"Take care of that, will you Bartimaeus?" he called languidly, "I wouldn't want the smoke to damage the furniture." And without a single glance in my direction, he went back to work.

I could hardly believe it. Nathaniel's exasperation factor had increased to an all-time high. With a stiff, unwilling gesture I quenched the flame and sent a quick breeze through the room to waft the haze of smoke out an open window. But if that boy thought he had me licked, he had another thing coming. I had one last trick up my sleeve.

"So you're letting me destroy your possessions at will now?" I leaned over his desk in the ever-alluring form of Kathleen Jones.

Nathaniel glanced up at me and the pen slipped from his fingers, marring the paper below with a slash of black ink.

Works every time.

"I appreciate your attempts to alleviate my boredom, but you're killing me here. I want to go home." Kitty pouted sadly at him, and Nathaniel's hands clenched into fists.

"Bartimaeus," he said slowly through gritted teeth, "What did I tell you about taking that form?"

"What? This isn't Kitty. See, she's a quarter of an inch shorter and has an extra mole on the back of her hand."

I helpfully brandished said hand in front of his nose. With a grunt of irritation, my master pushed it aside and scowled. Now we were getting somewhere.

"Spare me the semantics," he said coolly, "I said I didn't want you taking Ms. Jones' form and that order still stands. You won't like what happens if you continue to disobey me."

I was overcome by the urge to stick Kitty's tongue out at him, but instead I let her shape fall away to become Ptolemy once again. The tension in Nathaniel's shoulders eased and he picked up his pen to go back to ignoring me.

The situation was quickly becoming intolerable. Nathaniel had become more and more unresponsive of late, and no matter how much I whined about my sad state, he was completely unwilling to let me go home. To have the option of becoming Kitty taken off the table – the one and only thing that still provoked a reaction from this unrecognizable wall of ice my master had become – it pretty much sealed my fate to walk the Earth until I withered away from the strain of it all.

_If only,_ I thought mournfully, _If only I had the real thing here. That girl would sort him out fast._

I paused and carefully ran over the thought again, appreciating my mind for once again revealing its usual brilliance.

If Kitty were here, Nat might finally quit acting like the villain of some third-rate adventure film. If Kitty were here, she could reawaken the spark of goodness that I didn't like to admit the kid had once had. Kitty was a chink in his armour, the one thing that he still seemed to care about. Hell, with all the roiling, rage-fueled attraction the two barely managed to conceal it would be a picnic to get the two to hook up.

I stroked my chin contemplatively. Yes…twenty-four hours a day with the pretty renegade would certainly be good for the boy, and with a zealous freedom-fighter on his arm, Nathaniel would hardly be likely to continue abusing his slaves.

"Quit smirking like that," Nathaniel's voice edged in on my thoughts, "It's making my skin crawl."

I dropped the smile obediently, but inside I was metaphorically rubbing my hands together in glee.

Operation Matchmaker was already underway.

ooooooooooooo

Step one in my plan: I was going to have to find Kitty.

I wasn't expecting much difficulty, seeing as I was pretty sure the girl was still in London. She was a rebel and stubborn as hell – this I knew for a fact despite the brief nature of our acquaintance – and people like that don't just run away and hide in other countries when there's still sedition to spread and governments to topple.

My chance came when Nathaniel sent me out on yet another pointless errand. [2. Today's mission was to pick up the kid's _dry-cleaning_. These little tasks constituted most of his excuses for keeping me here on Earth. It was always: "Not now Bartimaeus, the ceilings need to be washed," or "But if I let you go today, who will do the laundry?" I can promise you that Natty-darling was the only magician in London getting his linens bleached by a five thousand year old djinni.]

I breathed a sigh of relief to finally get outside of Nathaniel's stuffy, dimly lit house. It was an early October morning and the air was brisk, smelling of wood smoke and moldering leaves. For a moment I wished I could hang back and enjoy the fresh air, but time was short. I was a djinni on a mission.

I took to the air in the form of a crow, circling once around Nat's place to get my bearings, then taking off towards parliament and the centre of London life.

Multitudes of humans passed to and fro along the sidewalk below me, and it wasn't long before I spotted a head of curly brown hair hidden beneath a cap which was pull down secretively over my quarry's eyes. Kitty! I would recognize her anywhere.

I dove down, scoffing at her half-hearted attempt to conceal herself. Who else had that mischievous grin, that confident stride, that…the girls head snapped up and I reeled back in midair, nearly falling out of the sky as I realized this girl wasn't Kitty at all.

My sudden confusion robbed me of my fine motor skills and I found myself banking straight into the stranger's head, flapping my wings helplessly.

"_Ack!_" The girl cried, spitting out feathers and attempting to shield her face.

I would have apologized for my clumsiness, but I was undercover as a crow and thought it best not to advertise my considerable eloquence. Unfortunately, this prevented me from begging her pardon when my little taloned foot got hopelessly tangled in her hair, which yanked me back like a ball and chain when I tried to fly away.

I squawked apologetically, but the girl had had enough.

"Crow attack!" she yelled, swinging her bag around like a batter about to hit a home run. Sadly, the heavy bag clocked me right over the head and I plunked hopelessly onto the pavement in a sprawl of ruffled feathers.

"Come on Tanya, leave the birds alone," someone called.

"I'd better not have just caught the avian flu," the girl grumbled, moving away from my poor prone form.

After a few moments I managed to peel myself off the pavement, and took off in a direction opposite to the one the terrifying girl and her friend had taken. This had been an embarrassing setback to be sure, but I was still Bartimaeus, and if Kitty Jones was anywhere in this city, I would find her. Homicidal brunettes aside, how hard could it be?

By mid-afternoon, I was forced to admit that Kitty Jones was more discreet than I'd given her credit for. I'd searched everywhere, from the tallest church spire to the deepest tangle of sewer pipes, and still the girl was nowhere to be found.

Perhaps I had been wrong. Perhaps she had left the country after all, leaving me panting and exhausted with nothing to show for it. [3. The worst of it was that old Nat was about as likely to let me go home and rest as he was to sprout a third arm from his forehead and shamble off to rob a sardine factory. Nope, when the time came to finally drag my wobbly, beaten-in essence home, the heartless kid would doubtless kick me straight out to dig latrines or something.]

Feeling distinctly put out, I alighted in Hyde Park for a breather.

Hyde Park was lovely, one of the scarce few palatable spots in London. As Ptolemy, I walked between rows of gold and scarlet trees, dry leaves crunching pleasantly underfoot.

Nearby, a park bench sat beneath a canopy of elm branches. A little old lady sat at one end feeding the pigeons, a black knit shawl wrapped around her head as protection from the sharp autumn air.

I stopped a moment to stare in astonishment. Not because there was anything unusual in the sight of a senior citizen provisioning the avian population of London, but because these particular pigeons were so tremendously engorged, like big grey bowling balls balancing precariously on a set of spindly orange feet.

As I came closer a few attempted to take off, wavering drunkenly in the air like a flock of bumblebees, but the vast majority were far too overfed to achieve flight and instead just sat there staring blankly at me as I sat down beside their elderly benefactor.

"What did those poor birds ever do to you?" I asked my neighbour as she scattered yet another handful of breadcrumbs over the ground. "They've already swollen up to incredible proportions. Stuff anymore in and they'll be popping like firecrackers."

The mysterious bird philanthropist started and turned her head my way.

It wasn't a little old lady at all.

No, this person was quite young and not ladylike at all. It was my elusive rebel commoner herself – Kitty Jones.

"You!" I gasped.

"You!" She yelped.

Speechless, we stared at each other, then both at the same time blurted out: "I've been looking all over for you!"

"You were?" I asked, recovering first.

Kitty clamped down on my arm like she was afraid I'd evaporate before her eyes – a very real possibility if my Master figured out I'd gone missing.

"I've been trying to find a way to contact you for months, Bartimaeus," she said, lowering her voice conspiratorially, "After that whole debacle with the staff my friend Jakob left Britain, but I stayed here in London. The magician's regime is ending – you said so yourself – and I'm going to speed the process along."

"I figured as much," I said, "You've got pretty big dreams for someone in such little shoes."

"I have a plan."

"That's rich. This from someone who considers tossing a cloth over her head to be a competent disguise."

"Fooled you, didn't I?"

"For all of ten seconds."

Kitty grimaced and threw a handful of breadcrumbs at my head.

"Don't you want to hear what I have to say?" she asked, "I want to make you an offer."

"You can tell me about it later," I said, springing up from the park bench, "I'm on a tight schedule here, and we have places to be."

"What?" Kitty's eyes grew round as a Ptolemy unfurled a set of wings from his back and tossed the girl over his shoulder.

"Uh, consider this a kidnapping or something."

Moments later we were soaring through the blue October sky. Below, a pair of playing children squealed in fright, but hey, it wasn't my job to explain why there was a pinnate humanoid carting a thrashing girl through the heavens.

"It's an evil fairy!" one of them screamed.

"Mind your own business!" I yelled back, wheeling through the air and heading back to Nat's digs. It wasn't a fun trip. Kitty was not above biting and scratching in her frenzy to escape, and I lost more than a few feathers and a decent-sized chunk of skin in the process.

At last I dragged her through Nat's kitchen window, knocking her head none-too-gently against the frame.

"Hey, who's there?" called a flour-covered imp who was preparing Mandrake's supper.

"This," I said, patting an irate Kitty on the head, "Is the answer to all of my problems."

"Where are we?" The girl demanded to know. Her eyes roved across the room in a remarkably unsubtle search for potentially lethal silverware.

"Stoggles," I addressed the imp, "Look after this one a moment, will you? I can't leave her unsupervised."

Stoggles wiped his spiny fingers on his apron and shot Kitty a repugnant grin.

"Take your time. Doll-face here ain't going nowhere, right sweetie?" He reached up on tiptoes to sling a purple arm around Kitty's shoulders and gave the girl a squelching wink. Kitty stared.

"Uh… I'll be right back," I told Kitty apologetically, slipping out of the room in search of my Master.

I found him in the adjoining dining room, reading the newspaper at the lacquered cherry wood table which was much too long for someone who ate alone as often as Nat did.

"Hey you, I'm back," I said, striking a ravishing pose. The boy didn't look up.

"So we're back to this, huh?" I leaned over the table, pressing down the corner of the paper with an index finger and sliding it towards myself.

"Return that if you please, Bartimaeus," said Nat, "Or am I going to have to put you back in a pentacle?"

I sighed theatrically. "I was afraid you'd say that. You really ought to pay more attention to me Natty-boy. You never know what I'm doing behind your back."

"I have no interest in your pranks," the magician declared.

"Oh, this is no prank," I said gleefully, "You see–"

_Bang!_

The kitchen door burst from its hinges and in tumbled Stoggles, head over heels. A wooden spoon handle protruded prominently from his forehead.

"That smarts!" The scaly purple thing complained, craning his neck to call back toward the kitchen doorway, "No need to get so worked up darlin'!"

A rolling pin came flying out and bounced off the imp's long, bulbous nose.

"Just wait until I find some silver you twisted monstrosity!" A female voice called back. Nathaniel stiffened. "And if you ever–"

Kitty's dark head poked out of the hole where the door had once been and she abruptly trailed off. Nathaniel went so pale it looked like he'd been drained dry of blood.

"_Mandrake!_" Kitty snarled, "I should have known you were behind this!"

A series of incoherent stammering noises dribbled from Nathaniel's lips.

"So then this is what I get for saving your pathetic life, huh? I should have done this city a favour and let that golem crush your sorry head into the pavement!"

Nathaniel finally regained the use of his voice. "I don't know what you think your doing _Ms. Jones_," he said coldly, "But threatening a government official in his own home is only going to gain you a swift sentence in the Tower of London. Need I remind you you're a wanted criminal?"

"Why you little–"

The next thing I knew, Nathaniel was on the floor clutching his nose as a red ribbon of blood trailed down his chin.

"How dare you!" Nathaniel glowered, shoving her back and attempting to rise. Another right hook from Kitty knocked him flat on his back once more. Soon things degenerated into a flurry of frantic yelling, scratching and hair-pulling.

I don't know what I was expecting exactly, but my imagining of the scenario had been more along the lines of the pair running toward each other in slow motion through a field of buttercups, with climactic music playing as the camera zoomed in with a soft-focus lens – or at _least _something with a little less bloodshed.

"Bartimaeus," Nathaniel finally managed to gasp out, "Restrain her immediately!"

An order is an order, and I suddenly found myself forced to step in.

"Well, well," Nat said smugly after I had Kitty safely restrained in a head lock, "We meet again Ms. Jones. I fail to see the purpose of feigning your own death only to sneak into my home. No matter. Bartimaeus, take our guest up to the study and lock the door. It seems we've caught ourselves a fugitive."

Yeah, this was really not going the way I'd envisioned it.


	2. Plan B

Disclaimer: The Bartimaeus Trilogy is the property of Jonathan Stroud.

A/N: (Posting this secretely from work!) Hey guys, sorry about the long delay! Thank you Nari, TaiganB, beautyfrompain, Elia's Moon Scape, Anna E Moss, The Elven Spear, Renwrites, authorgal, narutolover, Sylla, music4evah, Lisette, Silken Petal, belle of the ball, and of course, Tane, for your lovely reviews last chapter. As always, an extra big thank you to Lady Noir who betaed this chapter. Onward!

* * *

I was in the midst of carrying out a very delicate procedure.

With utmost care I folded the linen napkin into a sharply creased triangle and tucked it snuggly beneath the cutlery. The soup bowl was next, placed artfully in the exact center of the tray. The scent of boiled peas was not particularly alluring to my delicate senses, but with luck the girl would approve. I squinted disapprovingly at the tray set up, frowned, and gave the waxy red apple an extra buffing with a corner of the tablecloth. There – now _that_ was an aesthetically perfect meal.

My initial attempt at bringing Kitty and Nathaniel together had thus far yielded less-than-satisfactory results. Apparently you couldn't just throw two people in a room and expect them to fall in love. I knew it was my duty now to heal the breach; a responsibility which I now had the perfect opportunity to fulfill, as Nathaniel had ordered me upstairs to serve the prisoner her dinner.

I mounted the staircase, carefully balancing the dinner tray in my hands. A peace offering if you will.

As I went, I reflected on what I could say to the girl. The problem with my previous attempt, I reasoned, was my own lack of planning. Not one to make the same mistake twice, I had since taken pains to ensure that this next phase was thoroughly researched. I'd watched TV dramas until my brain fried and my eyes dried out. I took copious notes on the colourful contents of the sleazy paperback novels that Nat pretended not to have hidden away in his library. I even spied on the dubious proceedings of an affectionate couple picnicking in the park across the street.

After an hour or so of these various endeavors, I was now a complete expert on human love affairs. I alone knew the secrets of a woman's heart, the deepest depths of the feminine mysteries, the exact formula to make Kitty fall swooning into Nathaniel's arms.

I suppressed a malevolent chuckle as I turned the key in the lock and swung open the study door – the poor girl wouldn't know what hit her.

Actually, in this instance it was _I_ who was nearly hit. Kitty had hidden herself behind the door and now pounced as I passed through, wielding Nat's silver fountain pen like a butcher's knife.

My arms were full, so I was forced to disarm her with my foot.

"Nice try," I said after the deadly writing implement had rolled safely under the door, "But you shouldn't bite the hand that feeds you."

Kitty shrugged nonchalantly and leaned back on the edge of Nathaniel's desk. "It was worth a shot."

I took a step further inside. Nat was not going to be pleased with the design alterations Kitty had made to his study. The furniture had been slashed apart in what appeared to be a fit of vengeful pique, and the drawers of his desk had been pulled out and overturned in search of silver. The window had been thrown open, but thanks to the Impermeability spell I'd placed over it earlier there was no danger of anything organic passing in or out.

Well, it was not my problem if the girl put dents in the walls. [1. Except that Nat would probably have me buff them out later with a toothbrush. _Damn_.] I set the dinner tray down and gestured for the girl to eat up, but she remained impassive in her place by Nat's desk.

"It's not poisoned or anything," I assured her.

"I don't doubt it." She continued to stare warily at the soup as if it had been waving hello.

"Then go ahead. You've been cooped up in here for hours after all. You must be starving."

Kitty looked vaguely alarmed. "Hours? Already? I have to get out of here! Who knows what Mandrake's already accomplished in that time!"

"Accomplished? Not exactly. The kid mostly just paced around in circles after I locked you up, then more or less told me to feed you and ran off to the Ministry. Kind of anticlimactic, I know."

Kitty turned her pleading eyes on me. "Bartimaeus," she said, "You're not truly loyal to him. You owe him nothing. How about you turn a blind eye for a few minutes? All you'd have to do is leave the door unlocked and shut up that imp downstairs for a bit. You never know when a secret ally might come in handy."

"Who you?" I scoffed, "Look Kitty, I don't think you understand how this works. As much as I'd love to see Nat tripping over himself at your escape, I can't let that happen. I'm every bit as much a prisoner as you are, and more. Nat's given me standing orders to, and I quote, 'Do what ever it takes to ensure that Ms. Jones remains in custody,' and I have to obey them."

I scratched my chin in a pondering sort of manner. "Very interesting orders, actually. With a bit of creative license one might conceive of a situation where, for example, a bathtub full of roosters might be necessary to maintain your captivity. Hey, I could have fun with this! What do you think? Would a bathtub full of roosters make you a more compliant prisoner?"

I looked at her hopefully.

"You're not taking this seriously," Kitty complained, "Mandrake is probably arranging my sentence with Devereaux as we speak!"

"Nah, he's just running some errand or other," I assured her. [2. Sure Nat had said he was heading for Whitehall, but I'd bet an uttuku's backside that the kid was out having a stiff drink. The sudden appearance of a very much alive Kitty Jones in his dining room was a bit more than the Nat's fragile psyche could take.]

"Besides," I continued, putting on a winning smile that oozed charm, "He wouldn't do that to you."

"He wouldn't?" Kitty's tone was the epitome of skepticism.

"Nope. The kid's crazy about you; positively smitten right from the start! Ever since the golem incident he's been mooning after you like a sad sick puppy. Er…at least he would have been if he'd known you weren't dead."

Kitty wasn't looking particularly convinced, so it was time to break out my secret arsenal of media-approved romantic advances.

"He sent these up for you," I added, whisking a large bouquet tied with a red satin ribbon out from behind my back and plopping it down in her lap.

Kitty stared. "What is this?" she asked, poking it uncertainly.

"A tasteful arrangement of botanical delights which Mandrake carefully hand-selected to best express his ardent love," I explained patiently. Maybe Kitty just didn't understand romance.

"Bartimaeus," Kitty said slowly, "This is _lettuce_."

"Well yes, it was the only plant left in the fridge. What's wrong with that? It's the fall after all. Proper flowers are in short supply."

Kitty wrinkled her nose and swept the wilted bouquet of lettuce leaves from her lap. "Well you can tell Mr. Mandrake that I'm not interested in his lettuce leaves or any other vegetables for that matter."

"Oh come on Kitty, have a heart."

Kitty crossed her arms and gave me a stony glare.

"Okay," I said, moving on, "That's not all that he wanted me to give you." I held up a little folded bit of paper triumphantly. "He also wrote you a poem."

Kitty's palm met her forehead with a resounding _smack_. I ignored her pessimism.

"It's terribly romantic, I assure you," I said, unfolding the notepaper, "Ahem. Shall I read it aloud then?

_Kathleen Jones, please don't look so mad_

_I'm a bit of a pig, but I can't be all bad._

_Sure my hair is too long and it hangs in my face,_

_And my sleeves are decked out with meters of lace,_

_But you'd see if you look past the bit-villain part,_

_I love you with all of my greasy black heart._

_Only you can reform this hard-headed meanie,_

_And put in a good word or two for the djinni,_

_(Who, frankly, has been here for eight months at least,_

_And is going to explode if he isn't released!)_

_Love, John Mandrake_."

Kitty raised one eyebrow into a graceful arch of pure disbelief. I scratched my head nervously. By all accounts, women were supposed to be mad for poetry.

"…Not so convincing, huh?" I asked.

[3. What, you too? Okay, fine. So my poetry talents had more in common with Dr. Seuss than with Shakespeare's sonnets. Isn't it supposed to be the thought that counts?]

Kitty smirked a little. "Why are you even here, Bartimaeus?" she asked, "What exactly are you trying to do?"

My answer to that ridiculously obvious question was cut short by the sound of the front door slamming shut. Nathaniel was home.

"Nice talking to you," I shouted back at Kitty as I clicked the lock into place and raced down the stairs in time to catch Nat taking off his shoes.

I'd been rather cavalier about it with Kitty, but in truth I was just a tiny bit nervous about what Nathaniel was going to do about his captive. You could never trust the boy to keep from doing something irreversibly stupid.

"Good evening, Natty," I said, sweeping off his hat and coat and lobbing them in the general direction of the coat stand, "Have a nice time at the pub? That _is _where you were right? After all, getting sloshed is a much more gentlemanly pastime than, say, turning nice young girls over to the authorities, am I right?"

Nathaniel waved me off with barely a glance in my direction. A brooding storm cloud seemed to hang over his head as he slumped over to the nearest armchair and threw himself down with none of his usual rigid mannerisms.

"Uh, Nat?"

"Why didn't you tell me?" The kid demanded, raking a hand through his hair. "Kitty Jones, alive all this time? You told me she was dead and I believed you!"

"Hey, if you suddenly start implicitly trusting everything I say, that's your problem, not mine."

"She played me like a fool. I should have known she'd fake her own death to escape her crimes! Well, I'm about to show Jones _exactly_ what Britain does to radicals, Bartimaeus."

I shook my head. "She saved your life. Isn't that enough?"

Nathaniel's lips tightened. "Did she?" he spat, "I'd have to take_ your _word for it."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm a dirty rotten liar, I know. Come on, give the girl her due. She didn't _have_ to save you."

"Regardless of whatever happened during the golem incident, she's still a terrorist." Nat's face took on that peculiar haughty expression of his that made his face so terribly unattractive. "If Ms. Jones did have some last-minute stint of heroics brought on by a sudden pang of conscience, then I can only commend her for doing her duty and excuse myself while _I _do _mine_."

"Yeah right, like you've ever been fixated on doing your duty Mr. Ambition. You wouldn't be half so caught up in this if you weren't _emotionally invested_."

Nat glared coldly at me from behind the sheet of hair that fell in his eyes. "Are you implying that I am behaving unprofessionally?"

"Hmm, I don't know, do you think the higher-ups might consider falling for a captive to be unprofessional behaviour?"

He stiffened. "Jones is a criminal, nothing more."

"Uh huh. And that's why you act like a tongue-tied idiot when she's around. Why you moped around for months when I told you she was dead. Why you still keep that stupid scrying glass in the drawer by your bed–"

"Shut…up." Nat ground out.

"And then there're all those times you nearly lost it while I went parading around in Kitty's form. But let's not talk about that – it might get awkward."

"_Bartimaeus!_"

"That's why, Natty-boy, even now when you have her at your mercy you aren't going to turn her in. You don't want to see her shipped off to the Tower any more than I do."

"I don't care about Kitty Jones," Nathaniel seethed. And without wasting another breath, he strode over to the phone, dialed, and spoke.

"Whitwell," he said in a clipped tone, leaning to the side to prevent me from yanking the receiver out of his hands, "I need you to stop by right away. There's something here you need to see."

"What are you doing?" I cried as he ended the call. The boy was seriously messing with my plan!

Nat didn't answer. He merely stood in place breathing heavily, his hand still clutching the receiver. An unhealthy pallor had stolen over his features. A moment passed and the kid still hadn't moved.

"Having second thoughts, Nat darling?" I asked sweetly.

He began to pace back and forth in the small room, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose.

"I have to hand her over to the government," he said more to himself than anyone, "Any other course of action would make me a traitor."

"Whitehall's full of traitors. What's one more in the grand scheme of things?"

"A treacherous demon like yourself wouldn't understand of course, but _I'm_ a loyalist. It's my duty to uphold the law of this country and put dangerous felons like Ms. Jones away."

"Dangerous? Are you serious?"

Nathaniel raised an eyebrow. "She broke into a government building and stole a precious artifact."

"Oh, you mean the artifact she left right by your side while you were completely unconscious?"

"She resisted arrest, she threatened me, she attacked me in my own home…she even robbed me!"

"Hey, she tried to rob me too and you don't see me holding a grudge."

'That's because you take delight in atrocity," Nathaniel sniffed.

"If that were true I'd be a lot fonder of your hair, don't you think?"

Nathaniel flopped said hair out of his eyes and glared. Oh this was just lovely! It was so much easier to get a rise out of him now with Kitty around.

"Your fashion sense, such as it may be, is five thousand years out of date," he snarled.

"It's not my fault if the Huns were better dressed than you. And the Picts, and the Aztecs, and even the Neanderthals for that matter. No pretention there. Just throw some animal carcasses over your unsightly bits and you're ready to go!"

"I can't believe I'm having this conversation with you."

"Whatever you say. But no amount of big droopy sleeves or skintight pants are going to make you into a competent minister."

"That's enough. One more word from you and you will spend the rest of the day in the snuff box on the mantelpiece!"

"Why what's the matter? Did I hit a nerve?"

"Do I need to remind you who is the master between us, you recalcitrant demon?"

"Name-calling is it? I'd like to see you try, you despotic monkey-spawn!"

This stimulating discourse was halted by a sharp rap on the door.

"Mandrake, are you in there?" Jessica Whitwell's curt, nasally voice pierced through the walls. I took cruel satisfaction in Nathaniel's pallor as he hurried to the door.

"Whitwell," he said hoarsely in greeting.

The magician strode in without a glance at the boy, all sunken cheeks and cold, flinty eyes. She sniffed in displeasure at the décor of the room, [4. Which, admittedly, was done up very ostentatiously. It had been arranged by _Nathaniel_, after all.], crossed her bone-thin arms, and waited.

"Well?" she said, "What's the emergency?"

"Good afternoon, Ms. Whitwell," Nathaniel said politely. In his effort to keep from fidgeting under the woman's icy gaze, the boy was twitching sporadically like an overturned beetle.

Whitwell did not return his pleasantries.

Nathaniel fidgeted even more. "I wanted to tell you…to show you…"

"_Yes?_"

Nathaniel opened his mouth to speak, shut it, and opened it again. He balled his hands into fists and kept glancing nervously up at the ceiling as if he could see right through the floor of Kitty's prison.

Whitwell's frown was growing deeper by the second, but Nathaniel seemed lost in his own indecision.

"I…I'm so sorry to have troubled you," he said finally, with an air of resignation, "It was just a false alarm. I only called because…" he trailed off helplessly.

"Because sometimes he gets lonely," I helpfully finished for him. Nathaniel glared.

"Please excuse the djinni's rude interruption, Ms. Whitwell; he hasn't the sense to know when to keep silent."

"Oh yes Ms. Whitwell, and please excuse the kid too, as he clearly has no sense of social niceties or personal hygiene."

"The demon clearly ought to be taught some manners," Nathaniel countered.

"And our dear magician ought to be taught how to bathe."

"_Silence_ Bartimaeus!"

Whitwell, who was not the sort of woman who enjoyed being talked at, tapped her foot impatiently. "If you've _quite_ finished chatting with your servant Mandrake, then I suggest you tell me why I'm here."

"Oh, um, yes…It was about the Beauvais Affair, actually. I've been considering the situation and I've concluded we need to pull back at least a portion of our troops in the Americas if we're to have a hope of keeping our hold on France."

Whitwell raised an angular eyebrow. "That's outside of my jurisdiction. If you have an issue, take it up with Foreign Affairs."

"Yes, I realize that. I don't know what I was thinking calling you about it. I do apologize." Nat managed to make himself look contrite.

"Very well Mandrake, I trust you'll be more careful not to waste my time in the future. Good day."

It was at that moment, just as Whitwell was turning to leave, that there was a loud _thud_ from overhead.

Whitwell paused with her hand on the doorknob. "What was that?" she asked sharply.

"N-Nothing," Nathaniel said uneasily.

_Thunk, Thunk, Thud! _It came again louder, rattling the windows. Whitwell strode back inside, glaring up at the ceiling as if it was to blame for the reverberations that were pounding through the house.

"What do you have up there?" Whitwell's eyes narrowed.

The answer to that, naturally, was the one and only Kitty Jones – who seemed to be attempting to batter down the study door. [5. A hopeless task, by the way. Even I had lost track of all the enchantments Nathaniel had ordered me to bolster that door with. An apocalyptic firestorm couldn't have even scratched the paint, much less a scrappy teenage girl. Still, you had to admire her persistence.]

Nathaniel ran a shaky hand through his hair. "Er, the imps must have escaped from their bottles again. I'll just see you out before I run up and restrain them."

"Yes because your control over your demons is _so very_ effective." Whitwell eyed me ironically. "I think I'll lend you my aid this once and show you how a magician ought to handle his servants."

As she started resolutely up the stairs, a wide-eyed Nathaniel threw himself in front of her, arms spread wide.

"That's not necessary," he assured her.

"Oh, I _insist_." The magician slipped past him and rapidly ascended the stairs, her heels clicking hollowly against the polished wood. A white-faced Nathaniel ran helplessly after her.

I didn't follow them.

Instead I slipped out the front door to where Whitwell's limousine sat parked by the curb.

The chauffeur was snoozing away peacefully in the front seat, the cap of his uniform resting over one eye. He awoke with an abrupt snort as I shoved him out onto the pavement, but a little blunt trauma to the head swiftly took care of that problem.

I took stock of the various buttons, switches, and knobs in front of me. Djinn and technology do not mix, and though I had enough experience to know that ninety percent of the buttons on the dashboard worked the radio, [6. You humans and your priorities… Strapped into a two-ton metal box and hurdling through space at eighty kilometers an hour, and you're concerned about _music_?], it was still a rather harrowing process to get the car into gear.

That done, I leaned merrily on the car horn. The obnoxious bleating set the pigeons fluttering from the eaves and the neighbours shouting from their windows. The sash of Nathaniel's front window flew up and Whitwell stuck out her head. Her gaunt face reddened as she caught sight of the young Egyptian waving cheekily from the driver's seat of her limousine.

"Stop! What are you…" The rest of her sentence was lost as I stomped on the gas pedal. The limo jerked backwards with a squeal of tires on asphalt, ploughing over a stop sign and ramming into a tree before I realized I had it in reverse. Oops. Okay, there – now we were headed in the right direction.

In the rearview mirror I saw the front door slam open, and Jessica Whitwell burst forth, cursing as she ran after her escaping vehicle. I cut back on the gas, driving slow enough that even an emaciated, middle-aged woman in high-heels could keep pace.

She cut an impressive figure, scurrying through intersections with her white hair flying out in all directions and her face radiating enough rage to cause a sunburn.

At last a bridge stretched out before me. I slammed down the pedal as far as it would go and wedged it in place with the umbrella I'd found lying under the seat. The car surged forward careening towards the river.

I took one last glance at the rearview mirror, savouring Whitwell's expression of horror. In the form of a sparrow, I leapt out the window as the limousine crashed through the railing and plunged into the fast-moving waters below – providing the harried Londoners with what was probably the best show they'd seen all month.

With a causal whistle, I soared over the head of a sputtering Jessica Whitwell, heading for home.

That, my friend, is how to cause a proper distraction.

ooooooooooooo

When I made it home, I found a very pensive Nat brooding on the couch.

"I don't think Jessica will be coming round again any time soon." I announced, ignoring his dolorous façade. "So I hope the two of you didn't have any plans for tea."

Nathaniel cradled his head in his hands. "I couldn't. I couldn't do it!" he groaned aloud. "Whitwell was right there and then suddenly…and she was…that…that was far too close!"

I perched myself on the arm of the couch and smirked down at my incoherent master.

"Is that really such a shock? How many times do I have to tell you – you're in love with the girl!"

Nathaniel looked up at me with helpless, pleading eyes. It wasn't an admission, but it might as well have been.

"Cheer up;" I told him, "It's love, not a death sentence."

Nat sat stiffly in place, his gaze dropping to the floor. "Now what?" the kid muttered bleakly.

"I'll show you what," I said brightly, grabbing his arm and yanking him out the door and into the back garden. "Boy, are you ever lucky to have me to save you from your sad wallowings!"

"Bartimaeus, what are you…" Nat trailed off as I scooped up a handful of pebbles and began lobbing them one by one at the curtained study window above.

"Stop! What are you doing? You're going to break the glass!"

Without warning, the window flew up and a pale, dark-haired face peered out at us. I swiftly compressed myself into the form of a beetle and hid in Nathaniel's hair.

"What do _you_ want, Mandrake?" Kitty called down to us.

Nathaniel gawped up at her. I gave him a nudge.

"Come on!" I whispered, "Now's your chance, Romeo."

The magician cleared his throat. "I trust you are well, Ms. Jones?"

Kitty scowled. "You can't keep me here forever Mandrake," she spat, "Sooner or later you'll slip up and I'll get free – and you won't like the consequences!"

"That sounds familiar," I mused.

"Ms. Jones. I assure you I am not nearly as careless as you seem to think."

"Leave me alone!" the girl shouted, chucking an inkpot straight at Nat's head. The charm I'd placed on the window was unfortunately only a barrier to organic matter, and I had to duck behind Nat's ear to avoid the messy collision.

Nathaniel was livid. A red bruise marred his temple and gobs of ink blackened his face and streamed from the ends of his hair. "Is this," he bit out, "My thanks for saving you? You should be grateful I didn't throw you to the Ministry! How would you like to be locked in the Tower for the rest of your life Ms. Jones?"

I slapped my forehead. "No, no, no! That's not how you woo a woman, Nat!"

"Shut up," The boy countered. He was clearly incensed to have his newfound generosity cast aside so easily.

"Go away!"

Nat had to dive to avoid the heavy glass paperweight that sailed toward him. I wondered if the boy was regretting imprisoning Kitty in a room with so many dangerous household objects.

"Stop that immediately!" he yelled.

"Come on!" I said, "Serenade her, or recite a soliloquy or something! You really are terrible at this."

Nathaniel, unfortunately, got no further chances, as Kitty slammed the window shut and drew the curtains across with furious finality.

Nat stalked back inside, an angry miasma of discontent radiating off his skin. He slammed the door shut hard enough to knock the pictures from the walls and turned to glare at me.

"Go sweep out the attic." He ordered, "Or wash the dishes or something. I don't care. Just go away, Bartimaeus."

I buzzed off obediently, hiding my satisfaction at receiving such an open command. I'd need the leeway to continue with my plans.

The pair of them, it seemed, needed even more intervention than I thought. Nathaniel's incompetence in the romance department rivaled my own – and he didn't have the excuse of being an amorphous being from another dimension. But that was fine, because by tomorrow night, this situation would be fixed for good.

My next act would be one of desperation.


	3. Plan C

A/N: Hi guys, I apologize deeply for the long wait. Has it really been a month? *Hides shamed face* Anyway, I'm back on my game now.

Thank you so much to all everybody who reviewed last chapter: Nari, belleoftheball, beautyfrompain, Tane (triple apologies to you since it's your fic!), Lisette, RenWrites, Joeylejoker, Eru-iggy-is, Elia's Moon Scape, Caitlin, music4evah, Random Person 356 (by the way, 356 is my favourite number. Coincidence? Yeah, probably.), SakuNaru-Chan, and The Wineglass. You are all awesome. And as always, thanks to Lady Noir for her super beta skills.

In other news – this story is now being translated into Spanish! SakuNaru-Chan has already translated chapter one, so if you speak Spanish, be sure to check it out here – www (dot) fanfiction (dot) net/s/5534945/1/La_Celestina#

So anyway – on with the crack!

* * *

The study had been skewered and gutted like a deer carcass. The desk drawers had been disemboweled, their contents strewn across the floor. The rug had been flayed from the floorboards, leaving carpet nails dangerously exposed, and a poor, decapitated table lamp lay helplessly at the foot of the overturned bookcase. Night had settled over the exposed entrails of the room like a death shroud, lending a still, silent dignity to the grisly scene.

The only sign of life in the upturned room came from the mighty huntress herself. Kitty sat back remorselessly in the only unbroken chair, balancing a dainty porcelain teacup between her hands.

Her eyes were blank and glassy as she stared idly out the window to where the crescent moon shone dully through a haze of inky clouds. Stirring at last, she tipped back her head and drained the dregs of her tea, then hunched forward in her seat and studied the floor. Her fingers danced restlessly around the rim of the empty teacup.

At that moment, the shapeless, bubbling black shadow that had been pulsating above her head dropped down from where it clung to the ceiling and knocked her to the ground.

Kitty would probably have screamed, had there not been a strong sedative hidden beneath the pleasant lemon flavour of the tea. As it was, she simply blinked perplexedly as she crashed into the floor, the teacup slipping from her hand and rolling out of sight.

"You know who's going to have to clean up this mess?" I asked, becoming Ptolemy again so I could sling the girl over my shoulder. "_Me_, that's who."

The girl didn't answer. Of course not, she was drugged.

"Sorry about all this," I mumbled, throwing open the window and casting the Impediment charm aside, "But I'd rather you didn't claw holes in my essence this time around."

Kitty was disconcertingly compliant as I clamored down the gutter pipe and jogged around to the front of the house where Nathaniel's big black limousine idled in the driveway. I pulled the car door open and set the girl down inside. She sank bonelessly into the leather seat, her chin falling limply against her chest.

"Thought y'couldn't help me 'scape," she mumbled as I fastened her seatbelt. Her words came out a bit slurred, but still remarkably coherent, considering what I'd dosed her with.

"Actually," I informed her, "I haven't violated my orders at all. We're going for a little road trip, but that doesn't mean I'm helping you escape. You're still in my custody…isn't that right Nat?"

Kitty's head flopped around to regard the other occupant of the limousine's back seat. The sight that met her eyes was odd enough to leave her gaping in disbelief, even through her drug-induced stupor.

Bound and gagged, Nathaniel was decked out like a hostage. His enraged purple expression clashed terribly with the neon orange extension cord I'd trussed him up with. His struggle for freedom had caused him to fall over across the bench so that his face was smushed into the fine leather upholstery.

In my opinion, the kid had never looked better.

He sputtered, red-faced, no doubt trying to shout orders at me past the bundle of handkerchiefs I'd crammed in his mouth, but to no avail. He couldn't exactly give me orders while gagged, now could he? I shot the boy an insincere smile. It was time for me to show Nat just how far a djinni with half a brain could twist the rules.

"Wass'ee doin' here?" Kitty mumbled through her speech impediment.

Nat flinched away from her wrathful glare.

"Don't worry," I told him, "I've got her on anti-anxiety meds. We both ought to be safe for the next couple of hours at least."

Nat, it must be said, did not look reassured. Well, too bad for him. I shut the door on the happy couple and climbed into the passenger's seat, then turned around to prop my chin up on the headrest, regarding my captives.

"I'm sorry it had to come to this," I told them gravely, "But you two are ridiculously uncooperative."

"Wha'r you doing?" Kitty asked.

I ignored her and instead gestured grandly to the imp perched behind the steering wheel.

"Driver, take us away!"

Stoggles gave an impertinent salute as he pulled out of the driveway and eased out onto the street like he'd been doing it his whole life. The show off.

[1. I at least felt a smidgeon of satisfaction in the extreme shortness of the imp's gangly legs; to reach the gas pedal he was forced to slide so far down in his seat that his bulbous nose barely poked above the top of the steering wheel. Sure I couldn't help but cause wanton destruction when _I_ was in the driver's seat, but at least I cut a dashing figure while doing it.]

The digital clock on the dashboard blinked three o'clock in blockish green. Street after street slid past the windows, each more empty than the last. A light rain at last began to fall, obscuring the passing streetlamps into dull yellow blotches of light.

"Bartimaeus, you gonna tell me wass goin'on?" Kitty slurred, breaking the silence. She seemed to have already regained most of her facilities, though there was certain slowness in her movements.

"Sure. This," I said calmly, "Is a kidnapping. Well, no, actually it's a date. A date and a kidnapping. It's a special one-night-only, two-for-one deal."

Kitty's eyebrows scrunched together in confusion.

"But I don't wanna date you."

I reached back and patted her hand. "Not me, dear girl. _Him!_"

"_Stoggles?_ Please tell me yer not serious." The poor girl looked like she might be sick.

"What, did I slip too much Valium into your drink? I'm talking about _Nathaniel,_ Kitty! Or…uh, Mandrake. Sorry."

The impact of Nat's death-glare was slightly impeded by the orange polka-dots on the handkerchief I'd stuffed in his mouth. I tried not to dwell on the fact that Nat was going to have me burned for this. Or burned, eviscerated, dunked in molten lead, and hung from the clock tower, more like.

Kitty grimaced. "Thiz oaf? No thanks. Lemme out here, please." She jiggled the door handle optimistically, but of course I wasn't having any of that.

"I'm not saying I disagree with you in principle. He rather _is_ a bit of an oaf after all–"

"_Mmmfph!_" Nathaniel protested.

"–But there's no denying your undying love for each other. I question your tastes to be honest."

"_Bartimaeus!_"

"Oh – stop here!" I ducked out of the conversation to grab a hold of one of Stoggles' elbows. [2. He had several, all bending in different directions. Quite handy.]

We had pulled up beside a respectable-looking establishment. At least, the patch of sidewalk in front of the building had been swept clean and there didn't seem to be any rats, which was more than you could say for most of London.

The faded red awning above the doorway read _Mario's Pizza_ in big, blockish letters. A lesser mortal might have been deterred by the fact that the lights were out and the sign on the door had long since been flipped to closed, but not I. A locked door was simply an invitation. Or something. I was still working out that line of logic.

"_Bonjour mademoiselle_," I said, helping Kitty hobble out onto the curb, "Your _très romantique_ dinner awaits. I, Bartimaeus, shall be your server this evening."

"Please lemme die here," Kitty mumbled, turning her face beseechingly to the heavens. A swift kick took care of the door, and soon I was sitting Kitty in her seat and lighting a dozen half-melted tapers with a single Inferno.

"Ah, that's much better." I said as the blue flames filled the room with soft, flickering light. Behind me, Stoggles stumbled in with a trussed-up Nathaniel slung over his shoulders like a yoke.

"Put him down over here, mate," I told him, gesturing to the spot across from Kitty. The imp silently complied, which I'm afraid was not as per norm for our working relationship. Luckily in this case we both had the same thing at stake – namely our freedom – and it seemed a little cooperation would not be amiss.

"And now," I said, pulling out a notebook, "Can I take your orders? You sir?"

Nathaniel shot me a burning glare from beneath all the limp hair that hung in his face and hunched over even further in his seat.

"Ah, the poached salmon. Very good choice. And what will you be taking, ma'am?"

"I'll take one ticket out of here, thanks."

"And escargot and frogs' legs for you. Well then." I snapped the notebook shut and whipped it across the room to where Stoggles stood by the door to the kitchen. The imp caught it neatly and ducked into the back room.

"Well that's that." I planted my elbows on the table and leaned in eagerly. "Now don't mind me, I'm just here to chaperone. Let the date begin!"

Kitty stared.

Nathaniel glared.

The tension in the room was palpable. I looked nervously from Nat to Kitty and back again, half expecting them to leap from their seats and strangle me.

[3. I swear there was murder in their eyes. Kitty was looking at me like she wanted to rip out my spleen and serve it to me on a bed of fresh greens. As for Nat, his face was so radiantly red I could have used it to boil soup.]

I figured I had to cut the ice before my captives started mutinying. I cleared my throat.

"Perhaps you two ought to try a little pre-dinner tête-à-tête? Chat it up a bit?"

Kitty tipped her chair back on two legs and regarded me with an even expression. Her coordination was returning to her at an alarming rate. "Tha' might be a little difficult, considering that _one of us is gagged_," she said.

"Oh, right." Well, that _was_ unfortunate, but I couldn't let Nathaniel have the chance to give me an order.

"I don't suppose you know sign language?" I asked him hopefully. "No? Well, we can't let the conversation lag when there's a pretty girl relying on us…" I reached over and grabbed his chin.

"_Hello Kitty, I'm Nathaniel_," I warbled in a high, flakey voice as I bobbed Nat's chin up and down, _"My, you look lovely this evening."_

"Why thank you," Kitty said graciously, playing along much to Nathaniel's distress. "And yourself, you're looking…very…"

"…Humiliated?"

"He does seem to be, doesn't he?"

I poked the young magician in the shoulder. "Cheer up old boy. An ego as over-inflated as yours can survive a little bruising."

"Pride goes before a fall they say."

"He's got to learn to take his lumps."

"_Mmmphf!_" Unable to continue suffering in silence, Nathaniel let a sound of muffled irritation and thumped on the table so that the cutlery rattled.

"I don't think Nathaniel is enjoying this turn of conversation," Kitty observed.

I froze at the sound of that forbidden word. "_Nathaniel?_" I said weakly, "Nathaniel, who's that? I've never heard the name Nathaniel before!"

Kitty raised an eyebrow. "That's his name, isn't it? His _birth name_. You've only said it about half-a-dozen times now."

"No, of course not – don't be crazy! We don't know anyone named Nathaniel…right Nathaniel?"

Nathaniel rolled his eyes and stared up at the ceiling as if he expected someone to drop down and save him from this madness.

"Uh, oops." I patted the boy tentatively on the shoulder. "Well you can't say I didn't try and keep it a secret, right Nat? Um…why don't I run along and see how the food is coming? Bye guys."

I scooted out of the room without a second glance, leaving the young people to work things out between themselves. If I shoved my foot any further down my throat I'd wind up bruising my internal organs.

ooooooooooooo

"_What _is_ that_?"

"Poached salmon _à la Stoggles_," the imp before me sniffed. The apron he wore was smudged with black gunk, and in his hands he balanced a platter upon which was sitting some kind of unfathomable monstrosity.

"Salmon is made of _fish_," I pointed out.

The imp waved a hand. "Well, what'd ya expect, mate? This 'ere is a pizza parlor, not a specialty foods store. 'ere ya go, it's better than nothing, innit?" He shoved the foul thing into my arms. I tried not to wince as the eye-watering stench hit me full-on.

"So then…what is this exactly?" I prodded it carefully. My finger sank through the goopy grey substance with a despondent squelch.

"Lotsa stuff. Ground up pepperoni, pickles, anchovies, glue –"

"_Glue_? You're feeding them _glue_?"

"Eh, it can't 'urt. Four-year-olds eat it all the time. 'sides, I couldn't get it to stick together all proper, otherwise."

"I think it's looking at me. You sure it's…cooked?"

"Naw, those ain't eyeballs. It's just tapioca and summa the grit from behind the stove."

I stared hard at the concoction. "If you're sure…"

"If it makes ya feel better, pass it on over 'ere and I'll give it a good smack over the 'ead."

"Did you see that? I think it moved!"

I set the platter down on the countertop and backed away slowly. Stoggles hid behind my shoulder.

"It can't be alive," he whispered, eyes wide and fixed on our goopy foe, "I poured in a whole quart o' bleach when it was stewing."

"Let's…let's just throw it out and start over, okay?"

Just then, a low guttural sound like a belch burbled up from the depths of the monster-dish. Stoggles and I exchanged nervous glances.

"On second thought, maybe we should call the fire department and let them deal with this. They have hatchets. And hard hats."

I was half-way through calling 999 when a clattering crash sounded from the front room. I shoved the phone into Stoggles hands in a panic.

"Tell them to send the bomb squad!" I called over my shoulder as I raced out of the kitchen.

The scene at Kitty and Nat's table was exactly what I had feared.

The table had been knocked over, littering the floor with cutlery and broken china. The rug was singed and melted where the lit candles had extinguished themselves against the cheap fibre. But far, far disconcerting was the fact that Kitty had left her seat for Nathaniel's side, and was currently in the midst of slicing apart his bonds with a butter knife. They turned as one as I entered.

"Hey guys…" I cleared my throat and inched back nervously, "…Nice to see you two working together…"

The boy straightened up as the plastic extension cord fell, and regarded me with a false calm – like a shaken soda bottle that you just know is going to explode all over you.

"Bartimaeus," he said, slowly, carefully rising from his seat, "You and I are going to have a _lot_ to _discuss_."


	4. Plan D

Disclaimer: The Bartimaeus Trilogy is the property of Jonathan Stroud.

A/N: It's been a long time coming, but here's the final chapter. A big thanks to everyone who left a review last chapter: A Phrase Cuts These Lips, Elia's Moonscape, Owl-Eats-Waffles, Cheesey Goodness, Joeylejoker, Eru-Iggy-Is, SakuNaru-Chan, SilkenPetal, The Wineglass, belleoftheball31, Rekhyt, Nari, Darkangel8694, RenWrites, HP-GW-Shipper, Duchessa, x Aeris, Tane, and ObeliskX. I really appreciate hearing from you! This has been an incredibly fun story to write, and I hope you've enjoyed reading it! By the way, if you're interested in seening fanart of this story, take a look at the awesome fanart by Nari and SailorxStar – links are in my profile. Enjoy!

* * *

To my panicked eyes, Nathaniel's tiny smirk was looking decidedly carnivorous. I gulped and took a step back. A smooth, casual step – just enough to move out of lunging distance without making the retreat look too obvious. Nat was going to kill me. I was _doomed_. Already I could practically hear the gleeful hiss and crackle of the Shriveling Fire that awaited me. In a last flail of desperation I appealed to Kitty.

"Come on," I begged her, "I thought you were on my side here!"

Kitty shrugged, distinctly unconcerned about my impending future as a small and depressing mound of charcoal. "I _was_ cheering for you," she said, "Until I got kidnapped, threatened, aggravated with a bunch of irritating plots and forced into a blind date with a gagged and bound man. If I have to sit through one more suggestive comment I'm going to have an aneurism. Sorry, Bartimaeus, but Nathaniel and I have decided that you need to be dealt with."

Another step back. This time a little less subtle.

"This is a shining example of what happens when a djinni is allowed to run rampant," Nathaniel said calmly, even as he cracked his knuckles in a very unfriendly manner.

"Just a whole lot of unpleasantness for everyone involved," Kitty added.

Why? Why did I ever think it would be a good idea to put the two of them together? It was like introducing a lion and a Bengal tiger – no matter how the bloodthirsty felines get on, at least one of the pair will ultimately maul you to death.

[1. I had learned this lesson the hard way in the Roman Colosseum during a trying stint serving an Aedile. I had tooth marks in my essence for weeks after that one…but on the other hand, the bonus bloodshed had made the evening a smashing success.]

They advanced on me. For each retreat I attempted there was a grim-faced step forward to match it. A few stumbling seconds and I found myself backed up against the wall with a cold steel doorknob pressed into the small of my back and nowhere to run. Nathaniel opened his mouth. Whether it was to recite a spell, give me a command, or just hurl a few choice insults, I never found out.

My sweaty palm slipped against the doorknob as I yanked open what appeared to be a humble broom closet. Without the slightest hesitation, I shoved Nathaniel and Kitty inside one-after-the-other and snapped down the lock.

The pair swore and bellowed at me, but with a set of convenient paper napkins stuffed down my ears, I was safe from comprehending any of Nathaniel's orders.

Finally safe, I slumped to the ground in a mound of boneless relief. My master plan had backfired spectacularly, but at least my head was still attached to my shoulders. So now what? Before me the closet door towered tall and mocking – a flimsy defense which wouldn't long hold back what had turned out to be my own personal prison riot. I gathered my wide-and-varied trains of thought and bent the entirety of my extensive intellect to considering my options.

The most tempting idea was to simply run, but without my master's permission I wouldn't be able to leave this plane. Eventually, [2. Though hopefully not before severe dehydration and boredom-induced hysteria set in…] some unsuspecting janitor would open the broom closet, at which point I could expect a house call from one extremely cheesed off Nathaniel.

Bargaining for their release seemed like a good plan, but the logistics of unlocking the door _after_ having Nat break my summons were rather unfeasible and I doubted I could get him to go for it.

I was on the verge of considering whether I could get away with assuming Nat's identity and carrying on with life in his stead [3. Not likely. Nathaniel's day-to-day existence was so irredeemably dull that his houseplants routinely committed suicide from the futility of it all], when it suddenly hit me that it was altogether too quiet.

Cautiously, I tugged out my makeshift earplugs and listened hard. The frantic yelling had stopped, replaced by a low, quiet murmur that left me immediately suspicious.

Were they plotting something together? I tried to shrug off my apprehensions. The closet door was sturdy and no matter how they schemed, there wasn't much they could do to get out. Though it occurred to me that the closet was _very _small, and probably rather dark…and Nat and Kitty were being awfully quiet. Suspiciously quiet, as though they'd found something _else_ to do in that enclosed space…

Still I knew no good would come of further investigation on my part. Getting close merely put me in greater danger. And if they had in fact come to terms with their epic love in the forced proximity of the tiny closet, then I'd be a lot happier if I didn't brand my eyes with the sight. Yessiree, I was not interested in the goings-on behind that door. Not one bit. Not even if all my romantic scheming was suddenly coming to fruition under my very nose. Not even if the pair was furiously making out right that very second…

Ah, screw it all, I had to know.

A discrete little brown spider skittered under the gap beneath the door, straining its eight beady black eyes for signs of life in the dim light.

To my disappointment, the lovebirds were not exactly getting friendly.

"–hadn't kept him here this long this _wouldn't_ have happened, that's all I'm saying." Kitty was clearly in the middle of a tirade. A quiet, tightly restrained tirade of bitten-off sentences and freezing cold composure, but Nathaniel was scowling nonetheless. Nat had himself pressed up against the door as far as possible from the seething woman, while Kitty paced back and forth, kicking at empty bleach bottles that littered the floor.

"You needn't blame me for the demon's madness!" said Nat, "I'm hardly responsible for our current situation."

"He's been totally unhinged by his servitude to you! He wasn't nearly this irrational the first time we met!"

Nathaniel lifted his head and fixed her with a haughty look.

"If you found my behaviour so deplorable, you needn't have untied me!"

Kitty glowered. "Oh, excuse me for helping you; I can see now that my assistance was most unwelcome! Silly me for thinking you might not want to be bound up by an electrical cord at the mercy of your renegade servant! Perhaps I should have let you die by the golems hand as well? After all, it's not like I've saved your miserable life twice in a row now, but I guess a _'thank you'_ would be too much to ask for! If you even know what that–"

"Thank you." Nathaniel had been flinching painfully all through Kitty's speech, and now his voice came quietly. I'd never seen his face so flushed.

Kitty's gesticulating hands froze in midair. She frowned and leaned in as if she hadn't heard him correctly.

"_What?_"

Nathaniel cleared his throat, attempting to hold himself a little higher. "Thank you Kitty. You're right of course. You have done me a service, and I've been less than grateful. I suppose it's because I simply can't fathom why you did it. Nevertheless, I apologize."

Kitty's eyes narrowed. "I don't buy that."

Tension crackled between them. Gleefully, I skittered up to the ceiling for a better view.

"You've been very generous, despite everything. I suppose that's why I felt I had to protect you from Whitwell." Nathaniel ran a shaky hand through his hair. "I don't suppose my career is ever going to recover."

"Whitwell?" Kitty's face creased with puzzlement. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that when you first showed up I was planning on handing you over to the government, but in the end I just couldn't go through with it. I was more or less wrestling the Minister of Security out of my house, and I suspect she now blames me for car theft."

"But why? I thought you were an obedient, genuflecting, ministry toad."

Nat winced. "Thanks."

"Well, no I didn't…I mean, thank you for not turning me in, of course. I just…I wouldn't expect…"

"It's alright. I find I'm even surprising myself these days."

"Yes. But _why_?" Kitty breathed.

Nathaniel bent down his head toward her. "I suppose," he said quietly, staring into her eyes, "I suppose it's because…" He trailed off, leaning even closer toward Kitty's upturned face.

I descended down on a silken thread, flailing my little spider limbs in delight. Perhaps a little two violently in fact, for just as Kitty's eyes began to flutter shut, Nathaniel reeled back at the sight of the dangling arachnid and snatched it out of the air.

"Bartimaeus!" he thundered, closing his fist around my delicate form, "You! I _know_ that's you!"

"_Oomph!_ Let me go," the spider cried as Nat's pale fingers blotted out its view.

I didn't have time to kick myself for being discovered. Instead, I sunk my fangs deep into the fleshy skin between Nat's thumb and forefinger. He swore and loosened his grip, which was all I needed. In a swirl of lightening that hopefully seared his eyelids, I became a hazy black vapour and drained out the keyhole.

[4. I highly recommend this form to anyone in need of a quick escape. Holding it together is a no brainer; plus you've got the double advantage of decreased visibility and the flexibility to squeeze into the tiniest of hiding places. Ten years back, after accidentally botching a mission (due to no fault of my own), I'd spent three weeks hiding under my mistress's floorboards as a pinwheeling cloud of ozone. With a missing demon in the house, she couldn't even tie her shoe without glancing over her shoulder, eventually becoming such a gibbering, nervy mess that she had to be carted off to Bedlam.]

Outside the closet, I rematerialized.

Kitty and Nat were raising a ruckus once more, but I paid them no heed.

"Stoggles? What might you be doing exactly?"

The purple imp was curled up into a fetal ball with a red and white checkered tablecloth pulled over his head.

"_Shhh_!" He hissed. "It'll 'ear you, it will!"

"What? Your fish…contraption?" I frowned at Stoggles' whimpering nod. If that terrifying concoction had achieved sentience then perhaps I would have to move Kitty and Nat somewhere else. I contemplated the practicality of tearing the closet out from the rest of the wall and flying it to Amsterdam. I certainly wasn't letting them _out_, that was for sure.

All thoughts of vicious food items were tossed from my mind as a sound from outside suddenly pierced the room.

I threw myself to the ground as the light of a torch flashed across the window: once, and then again. Shadows flitted past the crack beneath the front door, and a low _snuff_-_snuffling_ sound filtered through the cheap drywall.

"Stoggles," I mumbled with my lips squashed into the linoleum, "Is that the–"

"Oi, its Night Police!" the imp cried, tossing off the blanket, "We're saved!"

The words _Night Police_ and _saved_ did not belong in the same sentence. Ever. I grabbed Stoggles by the scruff of his neck and yanked him back from the door.

"What did you do?" I hissed.

"You told me t' call fer 'elp, remember?" Stoggles blinked back at me, which was rather disconcerting since his eyelids slid shut horizontally.

"Not the Night Police, genius!" His limbs swung haphazardly as I shook him. "Haven't you got any idea what they'd do to Kitty and Nathaniel if they found them here?"

"Nothin' we wouldn't do ourselves?" Stoggles suggested.

"No! It's not – we aren't going to…look. Just help me get this stuff out of the way and go hide somewhere, Alright?"

Chairs were righted, candles were put out, scattered cutlery was stuffed into mouse-holes – and all the while the front door screeched and rattled on its hinges as the Night Police caught scent of the humans inside.

The two of us dove under a serving cart just as the frail wood finally gave and the policemen and their furry cohorts burst in with the moon at their backs.

Breathing is quite optional for a spirit such as myself, and as one of the government's four-legged killing machines slunk past, I decided to forego it. The absence of air in my lungs luckily prevented me from gasping loudly when the pack made strait for the closet and let out a collective howl. _Great_. It was all up to me to save them once again.

"You just _had_ to call the Night Police, didn't you Stoggles?" I mumbled as I shifted forms and stepped out of hiding. Immediately the wolves turned to me, backs bristling and lips curled back to reveal an unpleasant (though well cared for) set of incisors.

I tipped my hat to one of the humans of the group.

"Hullo, mate! Can I help you?" I leaned casually on the mop in my hand.

"State your name citizen," one of the officers rumbled. "What are you doing here?" He gestured to the others, who moved away from the closet to circle round me, sniffing cautiously.

"Nothin', I'm just Jimmy, the night custodian," I replied perkily. "If you gents are looking for a bite, I'm afraid we're closed for the night."

"Eh, wot about me! I'm a custodian too!" Stoggles stumbled out from under the dessert cart, herded by a set of the mangiest looking canines I'd ever seen in service to the Night Police. I noted with some bewilderment that he was now a scraggly, spotty young woman on the first plane.

The officer eyed her skeptically.

"You work here? I'm sure both of you are aware that there is a nine o'clock curfew in effect. I'm afraid we'll have to bring you in. As soon as we take care of the emergency here, that is."

"Emergency?" I laughed nervously. "There's no emergency here!"

"Though we sure do 'preciate all you nice men comin' to 'elp us." The Stoggles-girl fluttered her dishwater-coloured eyelashes and flashed a winsome smile which displayed her one remaining tooth to lovely effect. The officer looked frightened.

"Ahem. Well we'd better have a look around boys," he said, "Probably a false alarm, but still, let's do things proper. Pull up the floor boards, cut the phone lines, rip out the plaster – all that…" he trailed off as the toothless janitor-girl began stroking the sleeve of his jacket.

"I like a man in uniform," she warbled happily.

The man choked and yanked his arm away. "Er, right – come on fellows, change of plan. Let's get out of here. You two get on home and we'll leave you off with a warning."

He took a hurried step toward the door. All would have been well if Kitty and Nat hadn't picked that moment to finally break the hinges off the closet door and tumble out onto their faces.

Kitty and Nat stared at the Night Police.

The Night Police stared at Kitty and Nat.

I stared at Stoggles.

"…Gents?" The officer finally snapped his fingers, and all of a sudden all hell broke loose.

Wolves closed in from all directions. They came leaping over tables and squeezing between cabinets, forming an impenetrable knot of snarling fur around my human companions. I moved to assist, only to find a 200-pound canid flying at my throat.

A short jab in the carotid with a mop handle dispatched it rather easily, and I spun my janitorial weapon over my head in triumph.

"Ouch!"

I spun around, only to find a half of a dozen werewolves had fixed themselves to Stoggles gangly limbs. They flapped about like fur coats on a clothesline as he windmilled his arms and legs in an effort to shake them off.

"Hold still," I told him, and plucked them off one by one like leeches.

That settled, I attempted to peer into the writhing mass of wolf hair that separated Kitty and Nat from the rest of us. The pair was making a last stand by the coat rack. Kitty was skillfully brandishing the butter knife she had used to cut Nathaniel free, while the young magician appeared to be having a considerably more difficult time of it.

"I…demand…you…stop!" Nathaniel panted as he wrestled a snoutfull of slobbery fangs away from his neck. With his pale, skinny arms, it was sure to be a losing battle.

Feeling generous, I cast a spare Detonation his way.

"Don't…you know…who I–" He was cut off abruptly as a burst of green light erupted, incinerating his foe and knocking him clear across the room. He scrambled to his feet and ran forward, yelling all the while.

"Listen, I'm John Mandrake, Minister of –" the hapless magician tripped over his shoelaces and once again knocked his face into the ground. I hoped he'd still have teeth by the end of all this. But the boy was certainly determined. Glaring now, he rose carefully and climbed atop a chair, bellowing from the bottom of his lungs.

"_Halt!_ Halt this assault at once! I am a government official, and I command you to–"

At that moment, a particularly flea-ridden and obese wolf tackled him to the ground, where he cracked his head against a tile and presumably lost consciousness.

Kitty was at his side in an instant, slitting open Nat's assailant with her butter knife and checking for the boy's pulse.

"Hey," Called the officer, yanking the girl up by her hair. "You're Kitty Jones, aren't you?"

Kitty struggled, fixing the man with the sort of glare that could set the sun to shivering. I kicked at the wolf that had seen fit to latch itself on to my calf and leapt forward to help her. As I raised my hand, I felt a sudden tug at my elbow.

Stoggles, who had disappeared for a moment, was suddenly by my side again, bearing something heavy over his head.

"Stand back," he warned me, "This ain't gonna be pretty."

My eyes widened as I realized what he held.

"No, Stoggles! Don't!"

It was too late. I threw myself back as the Poached salmon _à la Stoggles_ glooped out of its pan and flung through the air. It wobbled horrifically as it slopped into the officer's face and _burst_.

It my many years of service on Earth, I have become acquainted with many horrible scents. There's the revolting odor of putrefied fish, the metallic tang of blood, the pervasive fetid aroma of the sewers magicians are so fond of hiding bodies in, and of course the nasty, spongy, acrid stench of human beings themselves. But never in all my life had I ever smelled something like _this_, and I know I never, ever will again.

"It burns!" The officer cried out, dropping Kitty like a hot potato. Indeed, his forehead seemed to be bubbling oddly. With a muffled gagging sound, he collapsed to the floor.

All around the room, werewolves were coughing and choking, tears leaking from their watery, bloodshot eyes. The Night Police, like all wolves, had a sense of smell approximately ten-thousand times more sensitive than that of a human. It was killing them.

"Ughh," Nat moaned, rising from his heap on the ground, "What is that terrible smell?"

Kitty helped him to his feet. "I have no idea, and I don't want to know," she said, smiling pleasantly and kicking a writhing wolf in the ribs.

We had congratulated ourselves too soon. Something, I sensed, was behind me. I whirled around just in time to see one of the wolves that had been panting and heaving on the floor just moments ago sail past, teeth bared, on a trajectory for the back of Kitty Jones' exposed neck.

"No!" Nat leapt forward, pushing Kitty back and shielding her with his own body. The wolf snarled and turned on him.

Nathaniel screamed and stumbled back as the creature tore in. Brilliant red bloomed across his shirt. Kitty and I moved at the same time, the girl stepping unthinkingly into the blast radius of my Detonation to stab madly at the wolf with her knife over and over again. If not for her Resilience she would have been dead. The wolf whimpered and lay still.

Nathaniel stared at his bloodstained hands in shock and collapsed to the ground. His face had grown terribly pale. Kitty leaned over him, eyes wide with worry.

"Are you…Nathaniel, how bad is it?" she demanded, pulling at his shredded shirt. Nathaniel let his head clunk back against the tiles, staring vacantly up at the ceiling.

"I suppose we're even now Ms. Jones," he murmured. "For months I thought you'd died for me, now it's my turn to do the same for you."

I swear it was the stench still hanging in the air that made my eyes water– I certainly _wasn't_ getting teary-eyed. And even if I was, you could hardly blame me – there wasn't a dry eye in the place.

Well, except for Kitty's, actually.

There was a resounding slap, and suddenly Nat was clutching a big red welt on his cheek.

"Stop being so melodramatic," she told him, "This is just a scratch. You won't even need stitches!"

"What?" Nathaniel clutched his chest and stared at it in bewilderment.

"You idiot," Kitty sighed. And with that she bent her head and kissed him. I suppose the boy was still confused to hear he wouldn't be giving up the ghost, but never-the-less, he curled his fingers into her hair and kissed back with a satisfied sigh.

I cleared my throat. "Well, it's about time you two got round to it! What did I tell you, eh Nat? ...Nat?"

I received no answer.

Once again I was being ignored. But this time, I couldn't have been happier.

ooooooooooooo

"Well, this is it then," Nathaniel said.

Stoggles and I were once again in the study, each situated in our own carefully crafted pentacle. The room was filled with cardboard boxes, and shiny white dust covers had been thrown over the furniture. A pale light filtered in from outside where a taxi idled, waiting to smuggle Nat and Kitty out of the country and into their new life.

"I can't say I'll miss it here," I said, "It's been more than long enough, Natty-boy."

Kitty had finally prevailed in convincing my master to allow Stoggles and I to go home. In the aftermath of the kidnapping incident, he'd been livid enough to split me in two. That is, until he'd been reminded by one very irate commoner that he wouldn't still be alive had I not stepped in. Nat was finally learning to appreciate what others did for him. And of course, it had helped when I'd pointed out that once I was home he wouldn't have to put up with any more of my harmless shenanigans.

The number one news story of the week had been the unaccountable discovery of an entire squadron of Night Policemen found dead in an abandoned pizza parlor, along with the remains of some very questionable food item. The general consensus was that the rogue wolves had caught a nasty case of food poisoning after abusing their station to break into a commercial business for some kind of wild party, and Jane Farrar was reprimanded for her poor control over her minions.

All in all, it had worked out quite nicely for all involved.

Nathaniel gave a non-committal shrug. "It's just as well. The two of you are the worst set of servants I've ever had. Maybe this time I can find someone who can actually cook without causing the apocalypse."

"I know just the spirit," I said helpfully, "Name's Farquarl. Good tempered, lovely to work with – even dresses like a chef!"

"I'll keep that in mind."

I smirked to myself and settled into my pentacle as Nat began the incantation. The lone candle on the desk guttered as a strange breeze swept the room, carrying with it the smell of another land. Home. I could hardly believe it. And yet with every passing syllable it became a closer and closer reality.

As the two of us began to dematerialize, Stoggles leaned over to whisper in my ear.

"We could've jist let them get eaten, you know. We didn't know they was gonna let us go, did we?"

"We didn't know for sure," I said, eyeing the gentle way Nathaniel's fingers tucked themselves into the crook of Kitty's elbow, "And getting free would have been nice. But this is even better."

The last whisper of the spell faded into silence. With the last of my corporal existence on this plane, I turned to Kitty. A smile was on her face and she gave me a wink that I knew meant she'd be ensuring that this would not be our last meeting.

As Kitty and Nathaniel faded from sight, I pushed them from my mind. The Other Place was approaching and I had a long, well-earned rest to enjoy.

It was about time.

THE END


End file.
